Of the many letters, emails, and comments customers have sent about me and my service at whatever dining or club establishment I was currently employed, I've often found that no matter how terrible they thought the service was, it was made even worse by the fact that I didn't have the decency to give them my name. "The steak was over cooked. I blame "what's his name?!" "Things probably would not have been so bad if that guy had told me his name." "Do you normally have your employees not introduce themselves when they are taking care of customer's? My wife and I spent a lot of money in your restaurant, I'd expect to at least know the server's name!"--all true comments, by the way.
My name? I had no idea it was so valuable. If I had known that my name would be so magical in making a crappy dining experience that much better, I'd approach each table with a high school marching band and glee club exalting my name to the heavens. And while we're mentioning heaven, I'll have some airplanes sky-write my name above the approximate area the table is located below. Nobody pays attention to their server from the get-go. Osama bin Laden could climb out of my mouth, but you would be too busy texting the person sitting right next to you to see me standing there. Most of the time, people would get me confused with a bald server named "Joe" anyways. (Good server, BTW.) "And my name is Joey, and tonight's soup is Lobster Bisque."
until next time, "Servers don't pay their rent with compliments."
"Bitter, party of one? Your table is ready."
The Bitter Bistro